


really bad eggs

by vowelinthug



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Mutiny, not in that order, sloppy blowjobs, too much rum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:51:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7363909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vowelinthug/pseuds/vowelinthug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Welcome to the Caribbean, love."</p><p>a canon-divergent story after 2x01 where the vote decidedly does not go in Captain Flint and John Silver's favor, and I steal from a Disney movie but somehow make it all about sex, because I ruin everything</p>
            </blockquote>





	really bad eggs

**Author's Note:**

> so this plot lends heavily to a scene from Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl, because i wouldn't be this into pirates if i wasn't okay with a little innocent theft.
> 
> the specific scene is when Jack and Elizabeth are stuck on a tiny island, and there is rum. this ends better for Captain James Flint than it did for Captain Jack Sparrow.

Flint sat bedraggled on a beach somewhere, watching his warship dive into the horizon, and tried to feel something beyond furious anger. It wasn't coming to him. Cold vengeance would have been good. Maybe some overwhelming desperation to live. The quiet desperation to die, even.

Nothing.

Oh wait, here came something. Annoyance greeted him like an old friend as Silver crawled coughing out of the sea.

He collapsed, face first in the sand, and squinted up at Flint through his eyelashes.

"You couldn't keep your mouth fucking shut?" Silver said. A wave crashed over him in answer.

Oh, look. There it was. The desperation to die, how Flint had missed it.

\----

When he'd called Dufresne a cock-sniveling goddamned son of an ugly whore for trying to lock him and Silver in the warship's brig while the crew voted what to do with them, Flint hadn't thought he'd take it so _seriously_.  

\----

"His mother had actually been a whore, you know." Silver had dragged himself up to the shore and had slumped down next to him. Flint was still staring into the spot where the warship had disappeared. "In case you were wondering why he decided to have us thrown overboard."

"I know," Flint said. Just meant what he said was completely true. 

\----

"I know this island," Silver said. He was standing, hands on his hips as he scanned the beach. "Or at least, I know this area." 

Flint continued to sit, and said nothing, because Silver was an idiot who didn't deserve acknowledgement.

"I sailed with a rum merchant ship a little while back. Those fuckers were the most dangerous crew I've ever sailed with, and yes I am including the one that just made us walk the plank."

Flint continued to sit and say nothing.

"They used this small island as storage. Shorter supply runs, wider distribution. Something like that. Legitimate captains don't disclose any more information than pirate captains, it seems. We just need to find a tree. An obviously non-obvious tree." His voice trailed away and he disappeared into the line of brush. 

Flint let him. He sat and stared at the horizon.

\---- 

About an hour later, Silver's head shot out through the tree line and shouted, "I found it!"

\---

What he'd found was a hole in the ground. Inside the hole was about twenty crates of bottled rum.

"How exactly does this get us off this godforsaken strip of sand?"

Silver pouted while looking down at the hole. "Well, there's good news and bad news."

Flint had yet to experience anything resembling good news since meeting John fucking Silver, and the hole he glared into the side of his head said as much.

"The good news is, I don't recognize this brand, which means these are different merchants than the ones I worked for, which is a good thing. For me in particular." 

Flint felt his right eye twitch. He was this close to shoving Silver into the hole and going back to staring angrily at the horizon.

"That means I don't know their schedule or when they're due to come back," Silver said, then added, "That's the bad news."

They both stared into the hole. Flint wondered if his last act on this earth would be the brutal but justified murder of another man. 

Then Silver looked at him, smiled, and said, "Thirsty?"

\---

Flint didn't consider himself a heavy drinker. He had a couple in the evenings unless he needed to be particularly sharp or lethal, but he knew of sailors who couldn't get out of their hammocks in the morning without a bottle in their hand. Flint made it a point in his life never to rely on anything that could make him act a fool. 

But this was a special occasion. He was in purgatory. The fall from the plank had snapped his neck and he was stuck in eternal damnation with a mouthy idiot too pretty and too irritating to live.

Flint lost too many moments in his sorry excuse for a life thinking about that mouth, and his afterlife wasn't shaping out any better, so. He drank.

"And there I was, right, sinking to the bottom of the gulf in naught but this sweet, young woman's corset, thinking to myself, 'Christ, there just had to be a better way to avoid marriage.'" Silver had lost maybe half a bottle of rum all over himself with the amount he gesticulated over that story. The other half, it seemed, went straight to his head. Flint thought Silver had one of the stupidest heads he'd ever seen - and life in the military and as a pirate captain meant he'd seen a lot of stupid heads. Silver had curls like a child's doll, and Flint laughed.

Silver smiled, looking pleased with himself, and sat down in the sand. It was more of a collapse, really, and he landed way too close to Flint. He threw his empty bottle into the roaring fire they had cobbled together and fell backwards onto his elbows.

"Maybe," Silver said, rolling his head onto his own shoulder and looking up at Flint, squinting against the smoke, "maybe we should have come up with our escape route before we helped ourselves to a drink." Or five.

"Maybe you should shut your fucking mouth," Flint said childishly. He'd already planned the escape route and he needed at least three days. In three days or less he'd have either risen from the dead like Jesus fucking Christ or have jumped into the fire to save himself from another one of Silver's impossible stories. Either way, an escape. 

"You couldn't have told yourself that before you pissed off the one man responsible for our continued existence on a moving ship?"

"Sharks will be eating my rotting fucking corpse before I acknowledge Dufresne as responsible for anything."

Silver's shirt had stretched out so it slipped off one of his shoulders. His skin looked to Flint the same color as the fire, bright gold and dangerous, and at this moment he couldn't tell into which he was more tempted to throw himself.

Silver stared at him, the anger in his eyes fading to a sly smile, either at the idea of Flint being a corpse or something else equally pleasurable. He sat up just for a moment, leaned in close. Flint sat, frozen, outside himself, when Silver reached out. He grabbed the bottle Flint had rested between his legs, dragging it slowly - innocently - from where it had been pressed between his thighs. He must have seen something in Flint’s expression because he paused for a split second before taking a sip, his eyes never leaving Flint’s.

Flint figured he’d gotten pretty good at reading people, particularly like-minded individuals. And while Silver was pretty easy to read, the problem was the story was always changing. One day he’d overhear one of his crew re-telling a story from one of the whores how Silver kept up with five of the house’s best and made sure everyone of them had a good time (to the puzzlement of both the crewmembers). The next day he’d catch Silver staring fixedly at Billy’s biceps, or Logan’s hands, or, memorably, Flint’s ass.

And now the page that was SIlver’s face was so loaded it looked like a bottle of ink upended. It made Flint dizzy trying to decipher all the words and it made him want to lie down. So he did, with a grunt as his injured shoulder landed hard in the sand. Silver still remained on his elbows for a moment to take a long pull from the bottle, then set himself back in the sand right next to him.

There was a peaceful silence and for a moment Flint let his mind wander idly to their probable death in the next couple days. In comparison to the chaotic uncertainty that was John fucking Silver lying right beside him, it was a relief to contemplate.

And then Silver ruined everything by opening his mouth again. “Did you know one time I nearly ran off with a Sultan’s daughter? I was on a ship that had made port in the far east, and --“

He stopped suddenly. Probably because Flint’s hand was pressing down hard on his mouth. Silver’s eyes were wide and washed out in the fire light. Flint found himself above him, half-covering Silver’s body with his own, and it was putting an unnecessary strain on his injured shoulder but he doesn’t. Fucking. Care.

"If you don’t find a way to shut your fucking mouth right now,” Flint said through clenched teeth, “then I will do it for you.”

Silver stilled, searching Flint’s eyes, and whatever he was looking for he must have found, because he started to smile. It curled against Flint’s palm like an animal. Silver’s eyes lowered as his hips lifted slightly off the sand, pressing into Flint. Before Flint knew what was happening, Silver’s hand wrapped itself around Flint’s wrist and freed his mouth.

“Well why didn’t you just _say_ so, Captain,” said Silver. He pushed against Flint until he was lying on his back again and Silver was shimmying down his body.

 Flint had lost the plot entirely.

“What --” was as far as he got because Silver was lifting his shirt and placing a toothy, open-mouthed kiss in the hard spot below his belly button.

His hands had found his way into Silver’s hair of their own accord. He didn’t push him closer but he didn’t pull him off, either, so he only considered it a narrow victory. He just tangled his fingers in like he was holding on for dear life.

“Just doing as you ordered, Captain,” said Silver, tugging down Flint’s trousers. Flint thought about telling him that he’s not technically a captain right now since he doesn’t have a fucking ship, but he suspected Silver knew this and he also suspected Silver knew the word coming out of his mouth is a good part of the reason his cock was half-hard and rising to greet him.

Silver licked a long stripe from balls to tip, and Flint curled up uncontrollably, like he’d been suckerpunched. Silver was pinning his legs down with his body, but still Flint couldn’t help but writhe, trying to open his legs wider.

“Wait. Wait, stop,” Flint panted, now pulling Silver’s head back for real. The look on Silver’s face was precious. Disappointment dissolved into sheer terror as the possibility that this would be his final end clearly entered his mind. Silver looked ready to bolt before Flint said, “We’re not doing it like this. I’ve already got more sand in my asscrack than I generally like.”

Silver didn’t even bother to hide his relief, and sat up. He looked around for a moment, and it was fascinating watching him think. Finally he looked down at Flint and whipped off his shirt. Flint allowed himself to look. If Silver was allowed to have his balls in his mouth then he was allowed to stare at his chest.

“Sit up,” said Silver, determined. He balled up his shirt and placed it down next to where Flint’s head had been, and without asking grabbed Flint’s own shirt and pulled it off him too. He created a pillow and set his head down on it. Looked up at Flint like he expected him to see where this was going. After a moment of staring he did.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to lean against a tree?” Flint said, even as he started taking off his boots, feeling desperate in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Desperate for violence, for gold, for sleep, for revenge - these were daily occurrences. Desperate for pleasure hadn’t factored in for a long time now.

“The fire’s too far from the tree line,” said Silver simply, “and I want to see you.”

Flint’s pants were off now too. He’d never been this exposed outside before. The breeze gently brushed the sand off his ass. And then he was kneeling over Silver, who was opening his mouth for him. Flint cock slid inside that warm, wet heat and Silver swallowed hungrily, his eyes fluttering closed.

Flint groaned loudly. This was why he never liked to drink this much. It left him feeling too vulnerable, unable to keep his defenses up.

Although an argument could be made for being open, as two hands reached up to grip Flint’s ass tight. Silver’s eyes were on him, waiting. From this position his movement was restricted. Silver had made this happen but now it was up to Flint to keep it going.

“You little shit,” he hissed, and slowly he started fucking into Silver’s mouth. He angled his hips so he could see the impression of his cock pressing against the inside of Silver’s cheek. Silver, for his part, worked his tongue furiously against him, moaning. Moaning _constantly_ , a relentless vibration surrounding his cock as he sucked hard. Every time Flint pulled himself back it was like Silver was trying to suck him back in.

Flint let his cock slip out completely to give Silver a chance to breath. His face was red and soaked. With wonder, Flint dragged his wet cock against Silver’s cheek and he couldn’t stop the moan he let out, Silver’s stubble creating an unexpectedly heavenly sensation. Silver also moaned, and pressed more open-mouth kisses on the underside of his cock. He took Flint’s balls in his mouth and sucked hard before moving to lick and kiss Flint’s perineum. Flint howled, his back arching as he rode Silver’s face. He tried to grind down, tried to get Silver to keep going, to keep moving, move _lower_ , but Silver’s hands on his thighs held him steady as he worked, until Silver pulled him back and swallowed his cock once more.

Silver’s face was filthy, wet with spit and precum, and the look in his eyes was pure, unfiltered rapture. Flint truly wondered for a moment if this catastrophe of a man actually did open his mouth as much as he did in the hopes that someone would finally come along and stick their cock in it.

“God,” said Flint, thinking this is how Silver felt all the time, this need to _say_ something, because the sound of his own harsh breathing and Silver’s muffled moans were overwhelming. “You look so fucking perfect like this. Fucking made for this, weren’t you? This is hardly the first cock you’ve sucked, is it? You were fucking gagging for it.”

Flint thrust hard, actually gagging him, and he felt his cock touch the back of his throat. Silver’s eyes were wet as he furiously tried to swallow around it and breathe through his nose.  One of Silver’s hand left Flint’s ass to grab his own cock, and Flint looked back to see Silver’s pants halfway down as he worked his hand furiously. Apparently he didn’t care about getting sand in his ass as much as Flint did.

“Has it been about this the whole time?” Flint grunted, eyes fixed on the tip of Silver’s cock disappearing and reappearing in Silver’s grasp. “You’ve been trying to get on your mouth around my cock all these weeks. Look at you. So fucking _needy_.”

Flint felt a bit like a hypocrite, saying that, when he wanted nothing more in that moment than to help Silver out, but his injured shoulder meant he couldn’t hold himself up with one nor reach around to grab him, and besides he’s pretty sure if he let go of Silver’s hair he might die. But staring at his cock Flint felt a missing weight heavy on his tongue. Watching Silver with his mouth full was like watching a man gulping down gallons of water while he himself died of thirst. He wanted to _taste_.

He pulled out Silver’s mouth again and Silver moaned at the loss. But Flint moved himself lower and kissed him, and Silver moaned at the contact. He never seemed to _stop_. Flint tasted himself on Silver’s tongue and that hint made him feel drunker than all the rum in the Caribbean.

He sat up because he needed to look. Silver’s face was shining with saliva, his lips looked red and swollen as he smirked. But his eyes were sharp and sly, like he could see every piece of Flint’s damned, hell-bound soul  and loved it.

“Really, Captain?” said Silver, and _Christ_ his voice was rough and raw and devastating. “And people accuse me of talking too much.”

Flint leaned down and bit his lips. At the same time he reached back and grabbed Silver’s cock, lined it up with the crack of his ass, and ground down hard. Silver whined, a “Holy fuck” spilling from his lips as he sat up and grabbed Flint’s head for a deeper kiss. Flint was seated in Silver’s lap now, their sweat and Silver’s spit creating the perfect friction, and every time Silver’s cock slid across Flint’s asshole it was like being brushed by a bolt of lightning. He felt it all over, and he tugged back on Silver’s stupid hair, found the perfect spot on his throat, and latched on.

“Christ,” Silver was saying over and over. “Oh, Christ. _Captain_ , please, I--”

Flint wasn’t sure exactly what he was begging for, but he had an idea. So he let go of Silver’s throat, clenched around Silver’s cock and whispered harshly  in his ear, “If we ever escape this godforsaken island and get our ship back, you can fuck me in the captain’s chair.”

“ _Fuck’s sake_.” Silver came with a startled shout, all over Flint’s cock, which smeared all over Silver’s stomach. Their hips never stopped moving, frantic thrusts against each other, slick and aching. One of Silver’s hands reached up to grip the back of Flint’s neck and the other reached down to stroke his cock, and he squeezed at the same time. Flint cried out, leaving long scratches down Silver’s back as he came.

They sat, foreheads pressed together, the only sounds that remained were their harsh breathing and the crackling of the fire. Flint thought for a moment that he was probably too heavy to be sitting on Silver’s lap, but he couldn’t be bothered to move just yet and he could personally attest to the muscular capabilities of Silver’s thighs.

Finally, his legs stopped trembling enough to stand. He grabbed his pants and shuffled back into them. This was uncharted territory for him. He’d had long-term lovers in the past, he’d had one-night flings in other people’s rooms that made for quick getaways. Never had he had some of the best sex in his life with a person he couldn’t stand with whom he was quite literally trapped. It was awkward.

Silver stood up too, and stretched. He seemed unconcerned with his nakedness, with the different fluids covering his tanned body which included rum and blood, both his own from the scratches and Flint’s from his shoulder. He picked up his shirt but left his pants pooled in the sand, and headed to the ocean.

“Where are you going?” Flint asked before he could stop himself.

Silver looked at him, too far from the fire for Flint to get a good look at his face. All he saw were eyes, shadows, and a hint of a smile. “To have a wash. I have sand in places where no sand should ever be.” He turned to go but stopped himself suddenly. “Jesus, the mouth on you, Captain. Next time you accuse me of talking too much I’m going to remind you of this.”

A tension Flint hadn’t realized was pressing on him suddenly lifted. “Oh?” He sat back down and raised an eyebrow. Took another swig from the bottle of rum that sat at angle in the sand, somehow untouched during all of this. “And how exactly will you be reminding me?”

Silver shook his head and even in the darkness Flint could see his eyes rolling. He disappeared towards the sea.

Flint laid back and stared up at the stars. The sand felt soft against his back, and the side of his body closer to the fire felt overheated and flushed, while his other side felt cool and overly sensitive. He felt tired, and his shoulder ached, and he was hungry, but he felt good all the same.

His eyes drifted shut and he dozed. A little while later he felt a cool, wet cloth gently wiping down his chest, and he didn’t open his eyes. Somewhere to his side, away from the fire, he heard a voice softly singing, “ _Drink up, me hearties, yo ho…_ ”

\---

Flint sat on the beach somewhere, staring out onto the horizon, when Silver collapsed next to him. He was shirtless still and covered in sweat and sand.

“God almighty, it feels like someone stuck my head into the wrong end of a cannon and lit the fuse.” He looked rough. His voice sounded worse. The heat that curled in Flint’s stomach rivaled that of the sun beating down on them. “It feels hotter today than it did yesterday. You couldn’t have dragged me into the shade?”

“You couldn’t have passed out under a tree?”

“Who’s that?” said Silver, after a moment, looking at the white sails of a ship sailing ever closer to them.

“That,” said Flint, “is the merchant vessel for the Carúpano Rum Distillery Company. I recognized the label yesterday.”

“Huh,” said Silver. “Speaking of, could do with a drink. You have a bottle or shall I run to the stores?”

Flint stared at Silver, and then leaned forward to stare behind Silver.

Slowly, Silver turned around and stared at the fire currently blazing, a huge pillar of smoke rising into the sky.

“No, I do not have a bottle of rum,” Flint said.

“Huh,” said Silver again. “No wonder it felt so fucking hot.”

“I couldn’t be sure if they were actually going to be making a stop,” said Flint, “so I thought it best not to leave it to chance.”

“Won’t they be looking for the people who set the blaze?” said Silver, still looking at the fire. “And, a second question -- won’t they be extremely upset about this?”

“Mhm,” said Flint, staring at the bruise on Silver’s neck until Silver turned back around to face him. “We’ll need to hide while they search the island. But by the time they arrive it’ll be late into the afternoon, and as the sun starts to set…”

Silver smiled. “Just like old times, then? How’s that shoulder feeling?”

“Will feel better after a quick swim,” said Flint.

They stared off at the ship full of angry, violent rum merchants steadily coming their way. “We’ll have to stow away on the ship somewhere,” Flint said. “Merchant vessels are usually good for hiding spots. God knows I’ve hunted my share of them. Figure they’ll be stopping in Port Royale, it’s about a day’s journey from here.

Silver nodded, and then suddenly turned to face him. “You mean to say,” he said seriously, “that we have to hide on this island for a few hours, and then hide on a ship full of sailors for a full day, and we have to be completely silent. The whole time."

Flint felt a shark-like grin grow on his face. “I mean to say,” he said. “Why? Is there something you’d like to talk about?”

Silver leaned in close, ran his hand up Flint’s thigh until he was palming his crotch. “I thought we might discuss how we were going to track down our warship and brutally end that despicable, cowardly, mutinous former crew of ours. I believe you have a promise or two to keep.”

Flint looked at him through lowered lashes, then glanced back at the ship. “We have a few hours, and I’ve already found us a hiding place for later.” He let a hand drift into Silver’s hair and gripped it just this side of too-hard. “For once,” Flint said, “I’d love to hear what you have to say.”

  



End file.
